


Make You Better

by jululia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-War, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jululia/pseuds/jululia
Summary: After the war, Harry and Draco begin writing letters to each other to help cope with their thoughts and feelings. What happens when the boys see each other in person, and they're reminded of the person behind those letters?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	Make You Better

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was loosely inspired by the song Make You Better by The Decemberists. 
> 
> Thank you to @lazarov for beta reading and helping me so much with this work! You're amazing and I greatly appretiate you!

They started writing to each other after all was said and done. When the disaster, now called the Battle of Hogwarts, was over, and they each needed to confide in someone who _knew_. Someone who had lost friends, who had a heavy cloud over their head, who played their unwilling part. 

Draco was the first to reach out. He knew that Harry never would have. He had Ron and Hermione and Ginny, and so many others. Even though their lingering traumas from the war mirrored one another’s, Harry was going to heal more completely, and in a shorter time, than Draco ever would. And so, of course it was Draco who reached out: it had to be. 

And in this _new_ Draco fashion, it was straight to the point. 

_I am so, so sorry._  
_  
_ —D.M. 

Harry didn’t know what he could say back. _I forgive you?_ But he didn’t. At least not fully. Maybe one day he might, but not yet. _I understand?_ Again, untrue. Or at least, not completely true. They were just kids back then, and Harry knew what Draco’s family was like. He heard the stories after. How Lucius had treated him, how Draco had kept so many bruises hidden, and how his mother was unable to stop it for so long. He knew that, had things been different, maybe he and Draco could have been friends. Harry knew these things. But he still did not understand the choices Draco had made. 

It took two weeks, but Harry did respond. 

_I know._

_— H.P._

Because, really, he did know that Draco was sorry. He’d seen it on Draco’s face when he walked away with his family, and he’d seen it so many times after. In the way, at every funeral for a student, Draco stood at the very back. In the way anonymous donations poured in for the families of the victims after. 

In the letters that followed Draco told Harry about the long nights after the Battle. He told him about the deep regret he’s held since he first joined the Death Eaters.

_I felt so alone. For years my father told me that we were the only ones we could trust. That no one else would protect me. That no one else would love me. My mother did her best to reassure me that my father was wrong, but she could only do so much. I’m not looking to make excuses to you, Potter. But I need to explain this to you. I was a child, a stupid stupid child. We both were. But you were so much braver than I was. I was a coward. I’m working to get better. I sent a letter to Granger to apologize for everything I said to her while we were in school. I hope she got it, she hasn’t written back. I don’t blame her._

_I hope you’re well, Potter. I really do._

_— D.M._

They wrote to each other for months before Harry confided in Draco about things he hadn’t told anyone. He had tried to tell Hermione and Ron, but he couldn’t worry them more than they already were. He wanted to tell Ginny, but after their break up he just didn’t feel like it was her place to listen. The only person he knew who might understand was George, but he still wasn’t in a good place since Fred’s death. Harry couldn’t burden him either. 

But he thought Draco might understand. 

_There were nights when Ron, Hermione, and I were hunting, that I felt I couldn’t go on. It got worse when I thought Ron had left us for good. Hermione, she was great. She did her best to make sure I took care of myself, and that I still had some happiness around me. But she wasn’t feeling her best either. I mean, obviously. And there were nights where I thought ‘What if I just walk away?’. Which, as far as thoughts go, isn’t the worst. But they kept spiraling into worse and worse thoughts. ‘What if I just walk away into the woods and I hurt myself?’._

_I thought they would stop when everything was said and done. I waited for weeks after the Battle. I thought ‘Of course it hasn’t gone away yet, you’re grieving. Give it a little more time’. But it hasn’t gone away, Draco. I mean, it’s not always there. Sometimes I feel like I’m okay again. And I get so excited. But the next day it comes back. And I don’t know what to do._

_—Harry_

And in response, Draco sent back two words:

_I understand._

_⋆⋆⋆_

Despite tentatively exchanging letters, they hadn’t seen each other in person, not _really_. They saw occasional glimpses of each other in Diagon Alley. Harry even thought he had seen a tuft of platinum blond hair in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes once. To this day he’s still not sure if it was Draco or not. Harry was so nervous that he convinced George to hide him in one of the back rooms, claiming that Romilda Vane was trying to sneak him a love potion again. But it wasn’t until one evening at The Three Broomsticks, exactly seven months since Draco had sent the first letter, that they finally reunited. 

Draco shuffled into the pub and quickly closed the door behind him, rubbing his hands together and stomping his boots on the rug. He took a moment to gather himself and adjust his winter hat before heading to his usual spot at the bar. The bartender, a young woman who looked to be around his own age, waltzed up and leaned over the counter. She was new — Draco didn’t recognize her.

“What’ll you be havin’ tonight?” she asked with a slight upward twitch to her lip. She most likely knew who Draco was. Everybody did. Clearly, she was only being courteous to avoid being sacked. Her obviously second hand clothes and scuffed shoes proved that.

“A Dragon Barrel Brandy, thanks.” 

“You’ve got it hon’.” 

“Thanks.” Draco grabbed the glass and swigged the drink whole. “Keep them coming.” He set a small pouch full of coins on the counter. It was enough to cover a night’s full of drinks and a generous tip. She took the bag and smiled, then poured him another glass and walked away to handle the few other patrons. 

A gust of cold wind came through the pub as the door opened. Draco kept his eyes down at his drink and slowly swirled it in the glass. Somewhere behind him, there was the sound of feet shuffling toward a table and a small group of people murmuring, but he could not make out what they were saying. 

The bartender walked from behind the bar, presumably to take care of the group that just came in. Draco lifted his glass to his mouth and sipped as, behind him, she asked, “What’ll you be havin’ tonight?”. 

And Draco nearly spat out his drink when a familiar voice responded, “We’ll take three Butterbeers, please.” _Harry._

Draco slowly turned his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of messy black hair. He turned back to his drink and his mind turned to static, too many thoughts at once and not one that he could grab on to. His blood left his body and rushed to his head, leaving everything else numb. All senses left him except for his hearing, which became hyper-focused on the table of friends behind him. 

“I don’t know, Harry. Are you _sure_ you should be in contact with him? After … well, after everything?” asked Hermione.

Draco’s hands shook as he grasped his drink. He knew he shouldn’t listen in on their conversation, but he felt unable to help himself. 

“Is now really the time to talk about this?” replied Harry, clearly exasperated by the question. 

“You didn’t tell us for _months_ that you were even talking to him! We’re your friends, Harry. You do remember that right?” 

“Of course I know! And I knew how you would have reacted. I don’t need you to protect me. What would he do to me? Voldemort is dead, in case you forgot, and it’s not like there can be anyo—”

“Blimey Harry,” interjected Ron, “we haven’t forgotten. Just like we haven’t forgotten everything that the bastard did!” 

“We all did things we weren’t proud of, Ron.”

“But not all of us did things that wound up with others being dead!” Ron said, a little too loudly. A few people from the room turned their heads toward the trio, except for Draco.

“Honestly Harry, what are you even getting from talking to Draco?” Hermione asked. 

“I don’t know why I need to get anything out of it. _He_ reached out to _me_.” Harry stood up from his chair and swigged down the rest of his Butterbeer. “I’ll be right back, I need to use the toilet.” 

“Knock yourself out mate.” Ron waved his hand toward the back of the pub. 

Draco felt the air shift behind him as Harry left. He managed to gather himself enough that he was able to sip from his glass. Now on his third drink, Draco wasn’t sure whether his vision was tunneling due to the alcohol, or from the panic which had begun to rise within him from the moment _they_ walked in. 

“I told you how he wrote to me as well, right?” Hermione leaned over toward Ron. “I still haven’t written back. I don’t know what in the world I would say.”

“Am I the _only_ one that hasn’t gotten a letter from the git?” asked Ron.

It wasn’t that Draco didn’t _want_ to write Weasley. Other than Harry, Weasley was the one Draco wanted to apologize to the most, but he didn’t know _how_ he could ever talk to him after everything. It was different with Harry and Granger: he could show that he changed, he could apologize and do whatever he could to show them that he’s _trying._ But with Weasley, things were different — his fucking brother was dead. Draco could never atone for that. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t want to apologize to him, it was that he didn’t feel like he would ever deserve forgiveness. 

“He better hope I never see him again,” continued Ron, his voice raised in anger. There was a crack and a hint of a whimper in his voice as he said, “Azkaban would be too good for him, Hermione. I’ll never get to see Fred again because of him and his lot!”

God, Draco’s eyes were _stinging_. But he would not lose it now, not here. 

“I only hope I wake up one day, open up _The Daily Prophet,_ and see that the bastard has finally killed himself.”

A crash rang throughout the pub. Shards of glass scattered at the bottom of Draco’s barstool as he clambered to clean up the mess. The Three Broomsticks fell silent, all eyes on Draco. After gathering a handful of glass, Draco dumped it on the counter.

“Draco?”

_No._

“Draco, is that you?”

Draco turned slowly, because if he moved any faster he knew he would fall over. Still, his vision swirled and he felt nauseous, whether it was from the alcohol or from the shock of hearing _that_ voice he really didn’t know, he made eye contact with Harry Potter. His gut dropped even further in his body when he realized Granger and Weasley were on their feet, ready to move between him and Harry. 

All that Draco could manage to get out was, “S-Sorry. I’m so- I’m so sorry,” before he ran out of the pub and into the cold. He kept running until he found himself at a familiar spot, by the fence protecting The Shrieking Shack. With an uncertainty that he could go any further and nowhere else to go in the empty white field, Draco sits down on a lone stone and drops his head into his hands. 

_Weasley is right,_ the voice in Draco’s head said. The voice had been with him for a long time now, but he couldn’t remember when it first showed up. Between third and fourth year, maybe? He wasn’t sure. By then, it had become his regular (and really, his only) companion. _It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Killing yourself. How else could you ever make it up to everyone hurt by your actions. Your only redemption is death._

A hand gently touched Draco’s shoulder, and it took everything in him to not leap and hex whoever was there. Instead, he jerked his head up and found himself seeing those familiar green eyes once again. Draco shrugged the hand from his shoulder and collected himself just enough to huff out, “What do you want, Potter?”

“I thought we were on a first name basis now,” Harry replied, crossing his arms. He cocked his eyebrow as he looked down at Draco, hunched over himself on the rock. His arms fell to his side as he saw his former rival’s eyes. They were so tired with circles darker than he had ever seen before. But what surprised him, were the droplets of water gathering at the edges of those eyes. Harry had seen Draco cry a few times before, but not many of them were out of sadness. He took a seat next to him on the rock and stared straight ahead, not wanting to make Draco any more uncomfortable. “Hermione told me what Ron said while I was in the bathroom. I’m sorry you heard that. Ron ... he’s still upset over everything. He took it too far though. He wouldn’t have said any of that if he knew you were there.” 

Draco lifted his head and stared at the bright snow in front of them. “He’s right though.”

Harry sharply turned his head to Draco. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare talk like that.” Harry grabbed Draco’s chin and turned his face toward his own. “You can’t leave me.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Draco asked, brushing away Harry’s hand. He started to get up from his spot on the stone — _he couldn’t let anyone see him like this God damn it_ — when he felt a tug on his forearm. 

“Because you’re making me _better,_ Draco,” Harry said, only a few decibels above a whisper. He was looking down, not meeting Draco’s gaze. “I felt alone for so long. I know I have my friends, I _know_ I do. But those letters made me feel like someone understood what I was going through for the first time in so long. I finally felt like I wouldn’t have to go through this alone. You can’t kill yourself Draco, because I don’t know if I could stop myself from following you.” 

_Oh._ Draco turned his head back to take in Harry, the way his — his what? his friend? his _something_ — was hunched miserably over himself. . Harry’s hand, which was still holding his arm, was shaking. What was he supposed to say? It was different having Harry actually here, in front of him. Writing a letter, Draco could take all the time in the world to figure out what to say. 

Still, he knew he needed to say something now. 

Draco shook his head and sat back down next to Harry, allowing him to keep hold of his arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re right. I don’t think I fully mean it either.” He took his free hand and gently took hold of Harry’s head, moving it so that he leaned against Draco’s shoulder. “Because you make me better too, Harry, you do. And I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t written me back. Thank you.”

Harry nodded his head, but did not take it away from Draco’s shoulder. “We’re going to be okay.” He said, barely above a whisper. 

Despite saying it so low, Draco heard the sentiment and nodded. “Yeah, we will.”

It would take them a long time to fully heal. But they _would_ heal. Together.


End file.
